


aiming backwards

by jim kirk (MalcolmTucker)



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - High School, Eventual Smut, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, High School, Humor, M/M, Private School, after exams, and then i will make it e, but they have to work together on a project, i will update eventually i promise, jim and spock hate each other, jim kirk is an asshole, so e, the most e
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-09
Updated: 2014-01-23
Packaged: 2018-01-08 03:51:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1128003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MalcolmTucker/pseuds/jim%20kirk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>So maybe they're not the best of friends, and honestly, they don't have to be. But Bowlcut better pass this project for him, because like <i>hell</i> is Jim going to <i>miltary school</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Bowlcut and Kathy VS. Kirk

**Author's Note:**

> i promise there will eventually be smut!! pinky swear. okay anyway this fic is for [helen](http://mittromneys.tumblr.com) who requested a spirk fic where they hate each other but are forced to work on a project together. title is from days are forgotten by kasabian!
> 
> sorry that this is terrible and also sorry in advance for everyone being an asshole you kinda didnt request that but hey surprise 
> 
> also i am tremendously sorry for italics abuse 
> 
> anyway thank you for reading i hope you like this fic!! (also no one beta'd this for me whoops so any mistakes are my own sorry team)

_62 days until due_  
  
So she’s joking. Two days until winter break and she’s assigning “a major project, half your grade, I’m a huge bitch” and she must be joking. (So maybe the “I’m a huge bitch” was subtext.) But, only explanation? Fucking private school.  
  
Jim sits in the back row with the cool kids and graffiti’s his name over everyone else’s in thick black Sharpie. Like a big fuck you to the other “cool” kids who were so bored they wrote on the desk _and_ the school, all-in-fucking-one, way to go, defacement of property. So he’s busy writing “Jim Kirk haz a big cock” and the Z is an added coolness factor and he pointedly ignores the glares that Bowlcut keeps lobbing at him over his shoulder. Bowlcut’s got jet-black hair and Jim supposes that he’s attractive enough but everybody hates Bowlcut and hey, everybody means everybody and Jim Kirk doesn’t wanna be an exception from that. So next time Bowlcut turns around to glare at him with his stupid pointy eyebrows snagged downwards in a glare, Kirk caps the Sharpie and thrusts it over his tongue and into his cheek. It’s lewd, (and yeah, okay, maybe uncalled for, but Bowlcut just keeps _looking_ at him, you know? Like he’s total garbage or something. And Jim _knows_ he’s not trash, he’s at _least_ recycling) and the teacher catches him after she finishes her speech.  
  
“Jim,” she says shortly, tone clipped, “Can you repeat what I’ve just said?” And Jim pulls the pen out of his mouth, all sticky and wet and lets it clatter onto the desk before shoving his hands behind his head, fingers interlocked.  
  
“Something about a major project, half our grade, I’m a huge bitch—”  
  
“ _James Kirk!_ ”  
  
“Ruining our winter break—oh, sorry, yeah? Wait, huge bitch thing was subtext. Sorry.” He’s got an impish smirk plastered across his face and Bowlcut’s giving him the darkest fucking look.  
  
“Geez, buddy, can I help you?” Kirk grins at him. He doesn’t even realise that Kathy—sorry, _Mrs Matheson_ is next to him until she’s hauling him out of his seat by the back of his collar and shaking with rage. She takes a deep breath and closes her eyes to calm herself and Kirk’s just _vibrating_ with laughter. He thinks he sees Bowlcut roll his eyes before turning away from him to continue working. The other kids in the class are snickering, and the popular kids are crowing his name in increasingly satisfactory tones.  
  
“You’re expelled,” she says when she opens her eyes.  
  
“Can’t do that, I haven’t been to the principal’s yet.”  
  
“I don’t care!” she shouts, “You’re _expelled_!” She lets go of his collar and takes a few livid steps back. “You are insufferable. I don’t care if that’s unprofessional of me, but you are incredibly rude, disruptive and you are taking years off of my life, Jim. Years.”  
  
“Well, gee, Kathy, tell me how you _really_ feel,” he says, calm and satisfied. “Alright, alright, sorry, I’ll go walk myself to George’s. See ya later, Kathy.” He stands up and brushes off his pants off as he tugs the suit jacket off the back of the chair and pulls it over his shoulders. He winks at Bowlcut on his way past.  
  
“Don’t call the principal by his first name.” She says weakly. Sorta unfortunate that she gave up so soon. Pity, he’ll have to annoy the math teacher next.

***

“Jim,” George says, and he sounds distraught. “Jim, Jim, _Jim_. What is it? What’s the issue? What’s the _problem_?”

“I dunno, George, why don’t you tell me.”

“Help me out here, Jim, where did I go wrong?”

“Uh, let’s see, _Dad_ , maybe when you dragged my ass across the country with like, two seconds of notice? And enrolled me in fucking _private_ school?”

“Language,” George snaps, and Jim groans, rolls his eyes and slouches further into the chair.

“Yes, mein fuhrer, I mean, father.” George tips his head into his hands and mumbles things, exasperated things, and Jim’s just beaming in the plush seat across from his father.

“Go back to class, Jim.” He says, and it really sounds like his iron will has crumbled. He sounds like a man who’s given up. Wow. Jim mentally congratulates himself. “And please, just for once, don’t cause any more trouble today.” George sounds like he’s pleading, so Jim promises himself he’ll at least make an effort.

***

  


Mrs Matheson looks pissed off that Jim is back in class, and Bowlcut looks pissed off that Jim is still alive. She rubs at the bridge of her nose with aggressive circling techniques.

“Get into pairs,” she says, and ah, that’s the sound Jim likes to hear. The sounds of a teacher with all their resolve shattered by his douchebaggery. Perfect. “You have one minute.”

So everyone gets into pairs and Jim sits back in his chair looking smug, waiting for the masses to fall over themselves in droves trying to be the partner of Jim Kirk, number one coolest kid in the school. He chuckles as he watches people sort themselves out but then his smirk drops as the minute slides by and Jim Kirk, number one coolest kid in the school, is sat alone while everyone else is sorted.

“Jim,” Mrs Matheson says civilly, “Who’s your partner?” Jim scoffs.

“Don’t need one.”

“Spock,” she says, and she sounds genuinely apologetic. Wait hey. “I’m so sorry, but please be Jim’s partner for the project.” She won’t make eye contact with Spock and _oh_ , that is just _rude_.

“Hey!” Kirk says, “That is just _rude_.”

“Be quiet, Kirk,” she snaps at him, and he makes a scandalised face.

“Mrs Matheson,” Spock says, and underneath the calm mask he’s put up he sounds like he’s freaking the fuck out. “I cannot work with him. It is impossible.”  
“Hey!” Kirk says again, “That’s even more rude.” Bowlcut turns around and gives him his signature leery look, and Kirk just glares back at him. You wanna play this game, Bowlcut? Alright, let’s tango.

“I’m sorry, Spock, but I’m afraid you’re going to have to,” she says, and Jim stands very suddenly.

“Listen here _Bowlcut_ , _Kathy_ ,” he says with forceful pointing gestures, “I refuse to—”

“What did you just call me?” Spock, as well, stands very suddenly.

“Bowlcut? Sorry, that was kinda just part of my inner monologue, didn’t really mean to say it out loud. Anyway, I refuse to—”

***  


Spock punches like a girl. 

***  


“God _damn_ it, Jim!” George is pacing around his office in long strides, fists balled at his sides.

Jim’s arms are crossed over his chest and he keeps flicking his tongue out to touch his split lip. So, maybe Spock punches a little harder than a girl, but still.

“I asked. I _asked_ you, I asked you to just once. _Just once_ , behave. I asked you to behave, just for the day, didn’t I? I said that, right? I didn’t just think it? Or imply it? I said it _out loud_ , right? Am I going crazy? Was I unclear?” Jim shrugs. Hey, he tried, but he’s still sticking to his story that it’s Bowlcut’s fault, so.

George sighs, takes a seat, stares at Jim from across his elegant oak desk. “Is this about your mother?” George swallows a visible lump in his throat, steels himself, and presses on. “Because I know, Jim, really, I do. I understand. If anyone understands what you’re going through, it’s me.”

“You don’t know shit,” Jim spits, looks away.

“I’m on your team, Jim,” George says, “And I know that we both miss her terribly, but that doesn’t mean that you can just do whatever the hell you please. She’d be upset if she saw you behaving like this, you know she would.”

Jim stands and turns to leave the room. “Whatever,” he says.

“James Tiberius Kirk, sit your ass back down.” Jim doesn’t sit, but he hovers by the doorway instead of sauntering out. “Now you listen to me, Jim. You can’t keep doing this. I may be your dad, but that doesn’t mean I’m not the principal.” George pauses, takes a deep breath and says the words as if they actually pain him. “If you don’t pass this class, I’m going to have to expel you.”

“You’re not gonna expel me,” Jim says as he half turns, smirk back in place on his face.

“Oh believe me, Jim. I am. So you better man-up and get out into that hallway _right now_ and _apologise_ to Mr Spock. Because without him, you’re never gonna pass that class.”

“Fine then, fucking _expel_ me, this school is _bullshit_ anyway! I didn’t want to come here in the first place, what makes you think I’ll give a damn if you expel me?”

“If you don’t get your shit together, Jim,” he says, and it’s clear that Daddy’s not fucking around anymore, “You’ll be on the next bus to military school, and trust me, they don’t play as nice. For starters, they’re not as lenient as I am.”

Jim’s breathing heavier now, because _fuck_ , that is _definitely_ worse than private school, and he’ll be damned if he has to follow anyone’s orders but his own.

“Also,” George adds, “They punch a hell of a lot harder than your new partner.”

***  


So Jim apologises to Spock and Spock sniffs haughtily at him and looks away.

“Hey,” Jim says, irritated, “I apologised, what more do you want?” Spock glares at him.

“I wouldn’t call, ‘ _Sorry I said that I thought your hair was stupid out loud _’ an apology, Mr Kirk.” Spock says flatly. Jim rolls his eyes dramatically.__  
“Sorry I said that I thought your hair was stupid out loud _and_ that I got you sent to the principal’s office.” Jim says in the way that sounds like he’s not really sorry at all. Spock is completely silent for like _five whole minutes_ and Jim kinda keeps sneaking these nervous glances over at him like _what the fuck is he doing who just stops a conversation like that._

“My father will kill me.” Spock says finally. Jim looks over at him and the corners of his mouth turn up a little.

“Hey, mine didn’t, so I figure you’ll be okay.”

“You don’t know my father.” Spock says with finality. Just then a man with, _holy shit_ , the _exact_ same haircut and eyebrows as Spock comes in, and. He looks _really_ pissed.

“Spock.” Spock stands without a word and doesn’t even spare a parting glance at Jim as he exits with his father.

Jim feels a twinge of guilt. Or maybe he’s just hungry.


	2. Orchestral

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So maybe Bowlcut's not so bad and maybe Jim actually forgets that he's a robot and maybe Kirk's not so bad and maybe Spock forgets that he's actually a huge asshole. No scratch that last one, that's sort of impossible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for comments and kudos sorry for being so slow!!!! i will try to work on this fic more often

_61 days until due ___  
  
“Sooooo…” Jim says when Spock closes his locker door and reveals his face. Spock stares at him patiently, but Jim just keeps dragging the vowel on and he can’t really help the sigh.  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“So I’mmmmm...” He’s really testing Spock’s limits now.  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“Fucked,” Kirk finishes. “I’m really fucked.” Spock heaves out a sigh. He doesn’t have time for this, he’s got orchestra next. And if he’s a bit peeved that Jim Kirk still can’t make a formal apology after getting him in trouble and causing the second biggest debacle since the lemonade incident? Well then.  
  
“I have orchestra next,” Spock says to make a quick exit. He skirts past Jim, but Jim grips his forearm and gives him this _look_. It’s the most earnest thing that Spock’s ever seen in his life, and it pins his feet to the floor.  
  
“Look man,” Jim sighs, and he swallows and can’t drag his eyes up to meet Spock’s, “Sorry about yesterday.” And wow, that looked like it _physically pained_ him. Spock tugs free from Jim’s grip, and slings his oboe case over his shoulders. He stares at Jim until Jim furrows his brows.  
  
“I swear to God, if you make me do that again, I’ll expel myself.”  
  
Spock doesn’t _quite_ smile, but his eyes dance.  
  
***  
  
So Spock goes to orchestra, and when he comes out there’s Jim Kirk, poised and ready, even though only the orchestra is here this early. And in his hands he’s holding a big—  
  
Oh fuck.  
  
“So you aren’t going to welcome me to the band?” Jim says and he brandishes his trombone. It’s brand new. That seems to piss Spock off.  
  
“And why would I do that, seeing as you are not in it?”  
  
Jim grins.  
  
“Ouch.” He pushes past Spock and slides into the band room, where several people are hovering around and putting away their instruments or just chatting, and sidles up to the band teacher, Mr. Roarke.  
  
“Hey, sir,” Jim says, “Brought her in. She’s a beaut, eh?” The teacher seems… he seems pleased. To see Jim Kirk. _This_ seems to piss Spock off even _more_. Spock grips Jim tightly by the arm and hauls him away from Mr. Roarke, dragging him outside of the band room and shutting the door a little more forcefully than necessary.  
  
“What do you think you’re doing?” he squints at Jim, fingers still digging into Jim’s arms.  
  
“Jesus, Bowlcut, relax. I’m gonna have bruises tomorrow,” Jim gripes, prying Spock’s fingers off his bicep. Which, okay, Spock is man enough to admit is pretty damn chiselled. Like a statue. Spock furrows his brows and chases away the thoughts. He’s mad at Jim. He’s mad, right? Shit he keeps getting distracted.  
  
“What do you think you’re doing, Jim,” he repeats, and this time it’s lost its question vibe and his turned into the speech-embodiment of Spock’s pissy-ness.  
  
Jim scoffs. “I’m becoming an astronaut,” he says, and wow, Spock’s pissy-ness has literally made a physical transfer into Jim Kirk, there it is, embodied in his sarcasm. “I’m joining band, dumbass, what does it look like?”  
  
Spock resists the urge to grit his teeth. “Yes. I can see that,” he takes a deep breath, “But that’s not what I am asking. What I am asking is why.”  
  
“Oh really? Because last I checked, you _definitely_ said ‘What do you think you’re doing, Jim’ in this increasingly bitchy tone. And contrary to what you may have just said, _what_ is not the same as _why_.”  
  
Spock literally just walks away. He doesn’t have the fucking _patience_ to deal with Jim. In that moment, he thinks, horrified, of poor George Kirk, bless him, and the fucking struggle of having Jim Asswipe Kirk 24/7. His worst nightmare.  
  
Spock shudders as he collects his oboe. He walks briskly down the hall in even strides, resisting the urge to look back or do something really emotionally irrational like flip off Jim Kirk. Unfortunately, he doesn’t need to look back, because fingers are snagging his bicep, his stupidly un-chiselled bicep, and pulling him to a halt. Jim glares for a little while before pulling the same thing he did earlier, where he drops his eyes to the floor and—  
  
Spock flushes.  
  
“Dad forced me. Said I had to do some extracurriculars, or he’d expel me.” He pauses for a moment and Spock thinks he’s done, thinks he’s about to walk away but then Jim looks up at him and he shifts back into a sarcastic asshole and Spock, thankfully, snaps out of his spell. “Which is totally not fair because music is bullshit. I mean, I can play it, but I don’t really know how to read the little circle and stemmy things.”  
  
“You mean notes,” Spock inquires and he’s kinda wondering how the _fuck_ Kirk doesn’t actually know what they’re called.  
  
“Whatever,” Kirk waves his hand dismissively and relaxes his grip on Spock’s arm a little when he’s sure (sorta) that Spock won’t dash off on him. “So what do you say, buddy, will you teach me to read the little circle and stemmy things and save me from certain expulsion?” He’s got this look on his face, like a puppy that’s just found its new master. All hopeful and annoyingly charming.  
  
Spock gives Jim a once over. Well okay, maybe more of like a four times over. He’s got things to do, really _important _things like passing his APs and learning some Tchaikovsky solos for his upcoming recital and the Spring Concert and his two competitions and he’s got SAT prep on Saturdays and he has cross country on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays after school and orchestra on Tuesdays and Thursday after he leads Chemistry study sessions for service hours during his free periods and now he’s got this big stupid project with Jim Kirk to do and he really _really___ wants to say no.  
  
After all, Jim’s basically been nothing but a huge rude pain in the ass to him but Spock, regrettably, and despite his prickly monotonous existence, is a decent-ish guy, or so he likes to think. (Also, he really doesn’t want to admit the puppy dog eyes work.)  
  
“Fine.,” he says, and extends his hand firmly and winces when Jim’s warm grasp locks in his. “But there are terms of agreement.”  
  
Jim’s grinning a mile wide.  
  
***  
  
Jim’s man enough to admit that he thinks it’s pretty cool that Spock can play like a thousand instruments as effortlessly as he breathes. To be fair though, Spock does basically everything as easily as he breathes, like math and English and running and everything. So maybe Jim’s got a little bit more respect for the guy now that his inner monologue has acknowledged the fact that his name isn’t Bowlcut and he’s gotten at least one successful(ish) conversation with him under his belt.  
  
He catches Spock at the end of the day, after he’s bellowed “FREEDOM” obnoxiously down the halls at least six times. “So Spock-o,” Jim says, and he’s all smiley and excited because hey, winter break, and Spock turns and raises his eyebrows in acknowledgement. “Doin’ anything exciting over the holidays?” he says conversationally, and Spock slings his backpack over his shoulders, gripping his stacks and books of sheet music with one arm and struggling to grab his oboe with the other. “Here, lemme help you with that,” Jim says without thinking, and pulls the instrument from Spock’s fingers. Spock scans Jim’s face for some indicator of motive, but he just finds…genuine sincerity.  
  
“Please be gentle with it,” is all Spock says and he walks down the hallway with Jim striding beside him. Jim fights off the instinct to blurt out “That’s what she said.”  
  
“I will probably work on college applications.” He says flatly.  
  
“And New Year’s?”  
  
“My father and I are travelling up north because I am going to a concert.”  
  
And maybe Jim is wrong. Maybe Jim doesn’t know him at all, and to be honest, he sort of _doesn’t_ but he thinks he does, and Spock is a person (kinda) and Jim knows people and Jim knows that he doesn’t really look happy about being a boring shit. Wait did he say he was going to a concert—  
  
“Woah, dude, you’re going to a concert?” Jim raises his eyebrows and smirks at him. “Who’re you seeing? Wait let me guess. Uh. Guns and Roses. No, must be really boring uhhh…classical people…Yo Yo Man—”  
  
“Ma.”  
  
“What?”  
  
“It’s Yo-Yo Ma, not Yo Yo Man. And no, I am not _seeing_ a concert, I am performing in one.”  
  
“What?” Jim says again and he stops. “Holy shit, you’re _performing in a concert_? What? What are you playing? When?”  
  
“Yes, I’m performing in a concert,” Spock says irritably, looking frustrated with Jim’s inability to grasp the situation. “Mostly the violin, though I will be playing my oboe, some piano, and a few pieces on the cello and bass. I’m doing the accompaniment to a few others’ pieces as well.”  
  
“Are you a prodigy?” Jim says seriously, and Spock sort of visibly cringes.  
  
“No,” he replies in that way that means yes.  
  
“You don’t need to be modest about it, trust me, I don’t even know what the word modesty means.” Spock doesn’t reply, so Jim just fills the silence. “Anyway, that’s badass.” He looks over and sees Spock’s cheeks are sorta flushed so he keeps on walking to make it a little less awkward for them. “Where are you performing?”  
  
“The Jordan Hall in Boston,” Spock says quietly, and Jim can tell that it’s making him uncomfortable to talk about his instrument mastery, so he tries to drop the subject.  
  
“Jesus fuck, isn’t that like a real concert hall? For like, a thousand people?” Hey, he _tried_ , but that doesn’t mean he _did_. Jim’s still an asshole, after all.  
  
“Yeah,” and Spock sounds clipped and unhappy and Jim’s not really good at reacting to that sort of thing so he sorta blames the whole ordeal that happens on Spock anyway.  
  
“Can I come?” And then it’s Spock’s turn to act surprised. “To the thing. Can I come? Not like, with you, or whatever. I mean I’ll fly separate and everything. But like. Bonding experience. Our project. Uhhh…music. Or something. You can teach me how to play the trombone and I can watch this musical shit and um. Get motivated to learn it? I don’t know, sorry, it was a stupid question anyway, forget I asked—” and Jim is going to launch himself into the street later for being such a fucking _idiot_ and babbling like a moron and he completely misses Spock saying yes. Wait.  
  
“Wait.”  
  
Spock waits.  
  
“Did you just say yes?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
***  
  
So Jim walks Spock to his used Audi in silence and gently places the oboe in the backseat and shit he made things so awkward. Honest to god, he doesn’t know what happened, it was just the excitement of someone being so _good_ at something that got to him, he’s always had that stupid weak spot for people and their talents and doing things they liked and actually being _good_ at those things they liked and yeah. That’s why Jim forgot, for a moment, that until yesterday he and Bowlcut were literally in a Glare-to-the-Death battle every minute they breathed the same air. Jim wonders what this says about him as a person.  
  
“So uh,” Jim says awkwardly and when did _that_ happen? Since when has Jim Kirk, coolest kid in the whole school, ever said um or uh or become fucking _awkward_ of all things. He’s started a mental tick list of all the things he’s blaming Spock for, and that’s definitely up there as of right this second. “You really gonna let me ruin your concert?”  
  
Spock rolls his eyes. “You’re being dramatic.”  
  
“ _I’m_ being dramatic? Who just rolled their eyes at me, Princess.”  
  
Spock has to put in effort to not roll his eyes again. Jim is distracting. He’s forgotten he actually asked a legitimate question.  
  
“So, concert. You _really_ okay with me coming? It’s fine if you say no, I’ll just pretend that you said so because I’m too hot and distracting and you couldn’t have me along because you’d see me in the orchestra and forget the piece you’re playing.”  
  
“One,” Spock says slowly, “That will never happen. And two, yes, I am really okay with you coming.”  
  
“That’s what she said,” Jim snickers, because hey, you can really only resist that sort of temptation once.  
  



End file.
